Turnabout
by TrylonAndPerisphere
Summary: Just a little drabble about what Rachel has been up to since season two.


Sound hit her before vision. Not much sound, just faint rustlings, occasional footsteps. Not much vision; a plain, windowless hospital room, spacious, sparse and white. And, of course, the vision wasn't complete. Half her vision, all that made things fully three dimensional, was missing. There was a foggy, thick, throbbing in her skull, a flat taste in her mouth of having been awake and asleep, awake and asleep, and always under the influence of drugs.

_They_ did this to her.

She flexed her fingers, and immediately felt her wrists constricted by the restraints. They were soft, but they had little give. Enough for her to reach the call button, but not much more. She fought down a lurch of distress and purposefully took a deep, but quiet breath. She could kill for some water. She could kill for less, but she didn't want to face the humiliation right now. She needed a while to craft her perceptions as she needed them, to imagine that using the button for a request was as simple and direct as when she buzzed Martin with an order. To lay a mask of control over her situation.

Temporary situation. _Very_ temporary.

She turned her one eye to the ceiling, again purposefully keeping her breaths slow and controlled.

There had to be a way. There was always a way. And she could find it. She was Rachel Duncan. She was _Rachel Duncan. _She was capable. She was more than capable. She was brilliant. She defied limits and limitations. She did not accept them. There had been many who tried to keep her down, albeit more metaphorically than in this case. Things usually did not go well for them.

When she got out of here…

A different sound caught her attention. The familiar beat of high heels on a hard floor, and they were getting closer. Perhaps they would pass her door, but somehow she knew they wouldn't. She had to be in the depths of DYAD's complex, or a removed location. Who would it be, coming to her door? A doctor? A scientist? An executive administrator. Her eyes narrowed at the next thought: _Marion Bowles_. The door clicked and swung open.

It was not Marion Bowles.

She took in the tall, blonde figure before her. Irritation flashed behind her forehead. The woman was back, in defiance of her orders, probably at Marion's request. But there was something different about her. Gone was the casual attire, the labcoat, even the signature pile of messy curls. She wore an impeccably tailored black business suit, hair straightened, sleek and in firm control, and her lipstick was a shade of red Rachel herself would wear.

"Doctor Cormier. Did you have some trouble? Rejected by Frankfurt?"

Delphine Cormier didn't react to her barb. In fact, her back was straight, like her hair, and her gaze firm. Also gone, it would seem, was the simpering fear that had cowed her before whenever they spoke. It was… unpleasant.

"Rachel," Delphine simply acknowledged. She walked to the side of the bed and stared at the wounded clone. "You're looking well, all things considered. Any pain?"

Rachel managed to keep her face neutral.

"No. But you would know that. Tell me, Dr. Cormier, just how long do your associates plan to keep me sedated and locked up down here? I'm sure there are a number of people in DYAD and Topside that would be interested."

The scientist had to know she had allies. Allies who wouldn't let Rachel Duncan slip through the cracks.

The Frenchwoman before her reached down and unlatched the slim briefcase she was holding, pulled out a file and opened it.

"On the contrary, Rachel. Everyone knows you're here for your own good."

She held up a paper close enough to Rachel's face that she could read it. It was a voluntary admission form for psychiatric care. At the bottom was Rachel's own, if slightly shaky, signature.

"Forgery—" she began, but Delphine interrupted her.

"There was no forgery. That is your own signature. Of course, you were medicated at the time. For your own good."

Rachel's jaw clenched. She felt the press of the restraints on her wrists more keenly.

"I doubt very much everyone's going to buy that," she asserted through stiff lips.

"Rachel," Delphine began, putting away the paper. "You went rogue on us. You failed in your mission, and you became a hazard to the health of yourself, others, and the project. You destroyed genetic material important for research, and you lost an eye in the process." She paused, letting this sink in. "You lost control. And no-one wants you in charge, anymore."

Rachel's blood was boiling, but a thin needle of icy fear pierced her heart. "You went rogue on us… _us_," Cormier had said. "You lost control." "No-one…"

A strangled cry built in Rachel's throat, seeping out in a quiet, pained sort of growl.

"They've put me in your place, obviously," the scientist continued, in her ridiculous, soft accent. "I have your job now. Marion Bowles recommended it specifically. So, you see, there's no need to worry. The work, DYAD, they are in good hands."

Rachel couldn't restrain a sputter, clawed hands jerking against the wrist bindings, causing the rails on the hospital bed to clank.

"Do you _really think_," she managed, just below a shout, "that you can pull this off? That you, _you_ are _capable_, Delphine?"

Delphine looked thoughtful. She leaned closer, and her voice became more intimate.

"You sent me away. You abducted Kira and tried to torture Sarah. You destroyed the bone marrow — very important material, for research. But also, you as good as tried to kill Cosima."

Her hazel eyes locked on Rachel's own, and her voice assumed a quiet, deadly power Rachel never would have expected of her.

"I told you not to make it personal," she said.

Rachel grunted, unable to rise. She gasped and began to break, her lips curling to expose her teeth, a single tear tracing its way down her cheek from her one remaining eye.

"You can't do this! Untie me! You're going to have to let me go!"

Delphine Cormier looked at her coldly. She straightened up again, tugging any bunching out of her jacket, and walked to the door. As she opened it, she looked back.

There was one word. It was the last one that Rachel wanted, the last one she could use.

"Please…" It fell from wet lips, shaking with heaving breath, and raw despair.

Delphine tilted her head.

"I'll have someone bring some water, and some tissues. Don't exert yourself too much, or the nurse will have to give you more medication."

She paused, and there may have been the tiniest hint of a smile at Delphine Cormier's lips.

"Rest well, Rachel."

When the door closed behind her, Delphine walked, heels clicking, strides efficient and head erect, toward her next task. The muffled sounds of sobbing followed her, but they merely beaded like invisible water on her back, and rolled off, leaving no trace.


End file.
